


Silence in the Loft

by Mimi (SillyMimi)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 18:09:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4402055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SillyMimi/pseuds/Mimi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek leaves Beacon Hills, and Stiles waits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence in the Loft

**Author's Note:**

> [This Tumblr post](http://crossroadswrite.tumblr.com/post/124674172465/quick-someone-give-me-an-au-where-stiles) by [crossroadswrite](http://crossroadswrite.tumblr.com) had a super cute Sterek idea, so I wrote the thing. Post Season 4, canon divergent because I haven’t watched Season 5, yeeee!

Stiles heaved open the door to the loft and tossed his backpack across the room. "Y'know," he said as he shut the door behind him, "I feel like it'd be beneficial to some of us if we told the rest of Beacon Hills about the whole werewolf, banshee, kitsune, werecoyote... _thing_." He gestured broadly with his hands as he opened the fridge and grabbed a soda. "If the school knew, we could have days off! Like... Being Turned Into A Berserker Really Took It Out Of You Day or You Were Possessed By A Thousand-Year-Old Demon, You Probably Need Some Time Off... Day."

Popping open the soda, he took a long swig before continuing passionately, "If the rest of the station knew, maybe they could call the frikken Winchesters and take care of all the--" He nearly spilled his drink as he gestured again. "--werejaguars and demons and megolomaniac werewolves."

Glancing around the quiet loft, Stiles paused, brows furrowing. "Derek?" he called, but there wasn't a response. Slowly, he set his can on the counter and stepped out of the kitchen. He passed the sparse furniture in the living room, the single couch and the television. There were rings on the coffee table (from him, of course), but the Star Wars coasters Stiles had bought because of those same rings were gone.

Brow furrowing, Stiles searched all of the rooms of the loft, calling Derek's name, the anxiety rising in the cavity of his chest and clenching his throat. "Derek!" he yelled, panic tightening his insides. He pulled out his phone and found Derek in his contacts, sending a quick message.

_Where are you?_

The rest of the day, he flopped down on the couch and tried to distract himself with homework, but every few minutes his gaze flickered to his phone on the coffee table. He waited all night, picking up his phone and checking his notifications, as if he had missed Derek's call or text.

He didn't, and Stiles had no choice but to leave later that night to be home before his curfew. He stood in the doorway a long time, looking in at the empty loft, and he didn't know how to explain the heaviness in his heart.

*

The next day, Stiles woke to a message from Derek, sent at 4:32 am, and it only contained one word.

_Away._

Stiles rubbed his eyes and blinked, setting his jaw as he quickly typed a response.

_Hope you're coming back soon, you left your fridge running, buddy._

There were a million other things he _wanted_ to say, but didn't. _The soda in your fridge is kinda flat. Your floor's looking a little dusty, I think it needs a mopping. How's the whole full-wolf shift thing coming?_ Most importantly, though, _I miss you, dude._

He also wished he was brave enough to _just_ say... _I miss you_.

*

In the following weeks, Derek's messages dwindled, but Stiles kept going to the loft after school.

The middle of the first week, the power went out. Stiles lit candles and brought a cooler to save the food in the fridge and freezer. There wasn't much, but he wanted to save it for reasons he couldn't articulate to himself. He stuck to, _I don't want the food to go to waste_ , and after sitting on the cooler for days, buying ice to keep it edible, Stiles finally donated it with a lump in his throat.

The loft got cold at night, but Stiles bundled up and brought blankets, laying them on the couch or the floor, using his backpack as the most uncomfortably pillow ever. (He won't bring his _real_ pillow; he couldn't fall asleep in Derek's loft like a _sleepover_ , he was just... visiting. Keeping house. Watching the loft.) He ate the food in the pantry and restocked when he ran out, munching on crackers and handfuls of cereal in the silent loft.

Sometimes, he talked to the walls, the ceilings, pretending like Derek was still there, flipping through a book on the couch beside him or folding clothes. "So I'm about seventy to eighty percent sure there's a kelpie in town," Stiles said casually, frowning up at the ceiling, and he squinted as he tilted his head, "the water horse thing of Scottish folklore, not the Australian dog. Disappearances around rivers and ponds and lakes in the reserve. Eyewitness accounts and survivors talk about this wet seagreen horse with kelp for hair coming out of the water and trying to get people on its back." He sighed. "Others report handsome men and women with sickly bluish-green skin coming out and trying to beckon them into the water."

"People are vanishing, drowning... dying, and we don't have a single clue." Stiles shut his eyes and muttered, "What would you do?"

The silence always hung heaviest when he was lost.

*

The months stretched on.

Stiles went to class, then to the loft to talk to the empty rooms. He also _didn't_ go to class because of dirt devils caused by pissy little _sylphs_.

"I swear, this tiny tornado was trying to undress me!" Stiles laughed. "My shirt was halfway off, and this sylph thing was _giggling_! Couldn't see it, but I could hear it." His broad smile waned as he looked around the loft, remembering how empty it was. "It wasn't mad after that."

Another day, there was a mourning dragon perched atop a mountain spewing ash instead of flame; school was cancelled for three days as ash built up like so many feet of snow. "She lost her eggs and cried for _days_ ," he explained somberly, "you could hear it from miles around. I think she thought they were gone, eaten while she went to hunt or something, but one had rolled down the side of the mountain...." A smile spreading his mouth, Stiles glanced at his phone, but there were no notifications, no messages. "We found it, gave it back to her. She cried again, but they were happy tears, y'know?"

He snorted air out of his nose and shook his head. "You probably would've been able to _talk_ to her or something, huh?" he said quietly, fondly. "You mysterious badass." Stiles's gaze dropped to the floor. "You would've known," he murmured. "You always know."

Stiles rose from the couch and slowly walked down the hall, peeking into the rooms until he found the only bed. Like the rest of the loft, it was sparsely decorated. The bed was made, and Stiles clenched his fists. Derek had enough time to make his bed, but not enough time to call them? Even send a message? _Hey, leaving Beacon Hills maybe forever, thanks for all the fun times!_

Swallowing thickly, Stiles hovered in the bedroom doorway before carefully, quietly, stepping inside. He trailed his fingers over the dresser, through inches of dust, and he pulled open one drawer to find it empty. Sliding open the closet, he found that empty as well.

Turning to face the immaculate bed, Stiles approached it, his footfalls as heavy as the weight in the pit of his stomach. There was a tightness in his chest, wrapped around his heart, that only intensified as he moved closer. "It's been seven months," he said quietly, rubbing his hands, and he gently lowered himself to the edge of the bed, sitting and staring around the room. Smoothing his hands over his knees, Stiles exhaled shakily as he said, "You're not coming back."

Maybe he was trying to convince himself of it as he said it again, "You're never coming back." The lump in his throat got bigger, and he could say it no more.

That night, when he couldn't sleep, he texted Derek, for the first time in maybe weeks.

_I miss you._

*

Stiles stormed into the loft, throwing his backpack clear across the room. "Butterflies are assholes," he grumbled, going to the kitchen and throwing open the fridge for a soda. "Who the hell would expect," he said quietly, the soda cold in his hand as he lifted himself to sit atop the counter, "that butterflies are also little fairy _bitches_?"

He paused, blinked. His brow furrowed as he glanced down at the soda in his hand, the condensation sliding over his fingers, then he looked up.

Derek Hale sat on a bar stool at the other end of the counter, a bowl of cereal in his hand with his eyebrows raised high. "Oh, no," he said, one corner of his mouth lifting up, " _go on_. Don't let me interrupt your rant about asshole _butterflies_." He brought a spoonful of cereal to his mouth with the utmost seriousness.

There was a long silence, Stiles's eyes wide and his breath caught in his throat. With a burst of energy, he slid down from the counter and crossed the distance between them, throwing his arms around Derek with a grin. The tightness in his chest released, and he exhaled loudly, "Oh my God. Oh my God, Derek." 

Derek wrapped Stiles up in his arms, and Stiles smiled until his cheeks hurt.

"Missed you, too," Derek said beside his ear, breath warm, and Stiles huffed a laugh, something warm and sweet curling in his chest and the pit of his stomach.

**Author's Note:**

> This is also on my [Tumblr](http://sillybuttmimi.tumblr.com/post/124786095772/silence-in-the-loft)!


End file.
